


A Million Miles Away

by Jotun_Half_Breed



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Helheimr | Hel (Realm), Holding Hands, How Do I Tag, Human Experimentation, Imprisonment, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel)'s Punishments, Loki's punishment, M/M, One Shot, Pansexual Loki, Poor Loki (Marvel), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22696804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jotun_Half_Breed/pseuds/Jotun_Half_Breed
Summary: 'He was alone. He was weak. He was nothing. He was broken. He deserved this.'In a world of pain and suffering, the broken God of Mischief finds that he is not totally alone.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel) & Original Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: MCU Must Reads





	A Million Miles Away

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting my fan fiction online, so I'm a little nervous about what you guys will think (if there even is a 'you guys'). Comments and criticism are appreciated. I really hope you like it.

Loki screamed.

The drawn-out cry pierced the featureless room, the only other sound in which was the sizzling of electricity against flesh. The once untouchable god writhed, arching his back against the chair he was bound to, as another wave of crackling pain penetrated the bare skin on his chest. His hands made a futile attempt to free themselves from the shackles that enclosed them, but they were too tight and Loki soon gave up. Royal blood leaked freely onto the arms of the chair, then forming a sweet-scented puddle upon the cement floor. Swallowing bile, he clenched his teeth, squeezing his eyes tight, begging the cool darkness within to claim him, to relieve him of this newfound enemy known as pain. It didn’t. His captors upped the voltage, the burning sensation travelling through his whole body. He couldn’t force his tongue to beg, couldn’t compel his Seidr to free him and teach his detainers a lesson.

The broken God of Mischief screamed.

The scream was long, dry and pleading, ripping at the throat and ending in a sob. It was this scream that informed the torturers that they needn’t continue. Loki was theirs now, whether he wanted it or not. The pain abated, slipping from an unbearable burning to a throbbing that was heavenly by comparison. Loki let out a relieved sob and finally allowed the tears to fall, the salty drops joining the matted blood and sweat that coated his pale skin and raven hair. His emerald eyes raked the ceiling, his trembling lips whimpering the name of the Aesir gatekeeper.

“Heimdallr… Please…”

His plea was met with humourless laughter and he bowed his head, quivering with fear and shame. His uncontrollable trembling caused the cuffs to dig further into his bloodied wrists and he let out a small moan of pain.

“Please…” he repeated and the laughter ceased abruptly.

A pair of high-heeled boots clicked along the floor. They were black, silver straps wrapping around the figure’s legs up to her knees. Loki’s line of sight came to an end halfway up her thighs and he didn’t intend to look any higher. He didn’t want to see his captor’s satisfied smirk. He didn’t want to look her in the eye as she taunted him, as she promised him more pain and more punishment. A metallic finger slid beneath his chin and he stiffened, whimpering slightly as she forced him to meet her steely gaze. He avoided her eye, focusing on the crooked smile she wore proudly upon her lips as she spoke.

“Nobody is coming for you, little prince,” she murmured. “You are all alone. You are nothing.”

He jerked his head away, fighting to remain defiantly silent. However, the movement motivated her to grab his jaw, keeping him from pulling away. He quivered, treacherous tears sliding down to cling to his chin. The woman let out a cat-like purr of pleasure at his suffering, the sound causing her lips to curl further. Slowly, teasingly, she traced a finger down the bridge of his angular nose, pausing tauntingly on his chapped lips, which parted slightly, tempted to bite her. 

But then they would hurt him.

Punishments were harsh, even for simple misdemeanours. He had felt enough pain to last him a lifetime, not that a lifetime was more than an eyeblink for a creature like him. He swallowed, the sensation painful on his raw throat, and clenched his jaw. A pointed fingernail cut at his lower lip and still he didn’t bite, he didn’t lash out. The hand finally retreated, blood seeping from the split skin. He felt the woman’s breathing bombarding his face, smelling sickeningly of mint, and he carefully avoided her eye.

“Good,” she smiled, quite genuinely this time, and to Loki’s horror, his own lips twitched, satisfied with the knowledge that he had pleased her, that she might consider ceasing his torture. “You’re learning. But, there’s still some defiance in you yet. That is something we sorely need to crush. Do you understand?”

“Please,” Loki choked, forgetting his pride for a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“I know, little prince,” she crooned. “You will be ready to do as we ask, eventually, and then all this pain will go away. We need you to let us help you. If you don’t, you will continue to be punished. Do you understand?”

He nodded limply.

“Good,” she smiled that lopsided smile of hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gave her a nod of assent, watching her boots stride away from him, stopping at the door. His breath quickened as she spoke to his captors, the ones that held the lightning rods and weren’t afraid to exploit the guns that clung to their belts.

Please don’t let them hurt him. Please, please…

“Give him a cell for tonight. Subject 1-13 will carry him there.”

Loki let out a sigh of indignation. How far had he fallen that prisoners were expected to carry him from place to place? Then again, he was the prisoner now.

He was alone. He was weak. He was nothing. He was broken. He deserved this.

A shard of pain sped from his wrists to his brain. They were taking the cuffs off, allowing more blood to seep onto his clothes and the floor beneath him. As he was freed, his right hand immediately moved to finger the palm of his left, too afraid to consider an assault, too weak to try to escape. 

Weak. Weak. Weak.

He felt rough hands around his arms, dragging him unceremoniously to his feet. His knees buckled and he barely grimaced as his face hit the floor. Blood trickled sluggishly from his nose and he curled up, preempting the blow that attacked his lower back. There was muffled shouting, then he felt the guards back off and a thinner, less aggressive figure crouched over him. Spindly hands wrapped around him and the prisoner’s nose brushed his cheek.

“I can’t help you get up while you’re like this,” a gentle voice whispered. Subject 1-13 seemed nervous, yet unhurried.

Loki raised his head slightly, uncurling from his position on the floor. The movement caused him to whimper in barely suppressed pain, but he allowed the other man to wind an arm around his waist and help him to his feet. His head spun, the blurred images that entered his brain via his emerald green eyes making him sway, his stomach twisting into a knot. Subject 1-13 pulled him closer and Loki suddenly became aware of how thin the prisoner was. His bony hip pressed painfully against the once-god and his ribcage stuck out unnaturally, the most prominent part of his shirtless chest. Skin brushed against skin and Loki’s breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the rise and fall of 1-13’s chest, which quickened slightly as the guards growled an instruction and a threat. Words seemed unclear in Loki’s ears, especially compared to the loud ringing reverberating inside him. It was like an inexperienced orchestra had taken up residence in his head, drowning out all sensible thought. 

1-13’s hand tightened around his waist and finally, Loki raised his head to gaze at the open doorway. He had not left this room in weeks and now he was free from it for the rest of the night. The other man took a tentative step forward and Loki stumbled, nearly fell. The orchestra had stopped playing. Loki could hear every jeering insult thrown at him as he righted himself, ears burning, and began to limp alongside 1-13. Despite most of his weight being supported by the other prisoner, every step sent a shock of pain through Loki’s body. They turned a corner suddenly and Loki’s chest objected to the unexpected movement, sending a bright flash of pain, motivating him to groan softly. If 1-13 noticed, he didn’t say. Nothing stopped his smooth stride towards the dungeons. 

The first clue to their arrival was the stench. It hung in the air, causing Loki to retch slightly, his royal senses not used to such conditions. 1-13 sighed, the low release of air causing his hair to flutter in a way that Loki noticed with a pang was kind of cute. Now that he thought about it, despite the sickly underfed look that hung upon the man like the rags of his remaining clothes, his fellow prisoner was quite good looking. His thin lips slightly turned down at the sides, his chestnut brown hair caught in a carelessly beautiful tangle, his chocolate eyes faded only slightly, Loki could not help but stare. 1-13 squeezed his hip again and Loki looked away quickly, blushing at being caught out. However, the other man smiled knowingly, using his free hand to push open a cell door.

As they entered, Loki pulled away from 1-13, holding the bars for support as he lowered himself to the floor with a soft moan. The cold damp clinging to the floor soaked into him and he shivered, pulling his knees up to meet his chest, like a child hiding from the monsters in the dark. The bars stuck painfully into his back reminding him of the scars there where his captors had attempted to use him as a knife sharpener.

Pain. Torture. Punishment.

1-13’s bare feet carefully made their way out of the cell, the door whining in protest as one of the guards closed it behind him. The prisoner barely glanced as his captors as he let out another breathy sigh, running spindly fingers through his hair and settling his attractive form into a relaxed pose, his right hip jutting out slightly, brown eyes glittering.

“So,” he smiled, his voice pleasant, bordering on flirtatious. “You caught a god.”

Loki raised his head slightly, watching as he brought his hands together in a slow applause. The man evidently had a death wish, because as one of the guards cracked his knuckles suggestively, 1-13 continued to taunt them.

“You guys should get a raise. Have you ever asked Her about one? No? You should. If that daughter of Niflheim can afford to keep us here, she can afford to…”

He had obviously said too much. Loki flinched as one of the lightning rods buzzed, swinging through the air to collide with the man’s face. 1-13 staggered back, his eyes wide with sudden fear, but his retreat was impeded by another guard who grabbed him by the throat and threw him bodily into the cell next to Loki’s. The door snapped shut and the guards laughed, one of them sending a mouthful of spit at 1-13’s limp form before they filed out, their cruel jeers ringing in the prisoners’ ears. The dungeon door slammed and darkness engulfed them. It was only 1-13’s thin breaths that reminded Loki that he was still conscious. He shifted uneasily, trying to get comfortable, but a harsh laugh right beside his ear caused him to stiffen. He didn’t dare move. 

Worthless. Alone. Nothing.

“They’ll miss me when I’m gone,” the man murmured. “Another few days and I won’t be here to entertain them.”

Loki relaxed slightly. “Where will you be?”

“Helheim.”

“Oh.” Loki didn’t know what else to say and he was even more stupefied when 1-13 let out a soft chuckle.

“My death was foretold many moons ago. Nothing will come from weeping over it.”

Loki remained silent for a moment. Hesitantly, he turned his head, looking up into the wrinkled eyes of his fellow prisoner. 1-13 smiled at him and he quickly looked away, shuddering. “Did you weep… before?”

He thought the other man wouldn’t answer and for a moment it seemed like he almost didn’t. 1-13 sighed, leaning back against the bars, directly behind Loki, a frail hand dropping to the floor at his side.

“I did,” he muttered, “at first. But, after a while, I realised that I couldn’t change anything. Nobody could help me escape this. Damn the Norns! They were never on my side. Or I was never on theirs…”

Loki bowed his head as he listened to the dying man, his gaze flickering towards the slim hand, curled at his side. Every part of him urged him to reach out, to comfort his newfound ally. To stretch his arm across the million miles of space between them, through the bars and take 1-13’s hand. He was about to do just that when he paused, reaching the cold realisation that he hadn’t touched another person in weeks. They had touched him alright, hurt him, tortured him, but he was never given the sweet opportunity to return the favour. 1-13’s voice hitched and he suddenly fell silent, his hand shaking slightly. The silence that followed was so thick that Loki felt a sudden urge to break it, to snap it in two, to scream.

Swallowing all misgivings, his hand scraped along the floor, travelling the million miles between them in a single movement, his fingers intertwining with the other man’s. He squeezed his hand slightly, not thinking about how weak this would reveal him to be, smiling as 1-13 returned the gesture.

“We’re not so far away anymore,” he breathed and his thumb began to caress his friend’s palm.


End file.
